ro2

Bleh...

You've brought the waves.

(Low-pitched braying)

Not, kin. The scent of soil...

The seeds fall into the ocean, blooming into cerulean flowers...

These are not the terrible waves...

(Ears perk up attentively)

The terrible waves––

The knight's soliloquy comes to an abrupt end.

The sound of the surging waves, the whistling of fowlbeasts, the howling of the strident wind.

In that instant, everything disappears.

In complete silence, the wind rises and the clouds surge.

After the moment of silence, the waves ascend, and calamity descends once again.

Ishar'mla leads we many from the depths of the tides.

No longer is Iberia the sole victim. Every corner of the land––

Shall be drowned out by the Profound Silence.

The knight has lost his voice. He suddenly jerks the reins of his mount and aims the tip of his lance across the other side of the ocean.

He lets out a great roar that makes his skull tremble, but when the sound reaches his ears, it is nothing more than a strange, shrill hiss.

His arms are shaking, his breaths become rapid, and Rocinante keeps shaking its head.

The Seaborn instinct continually pushes back against this internecine savagery,

But the knight pays no heed to the cruel truth behind these physiological reactions. He is resolute in his belief that they arise from an uncontrollable ecstasy within his heart.

After all––

The terrible waves he has been chasing for such a long time are before his very eyes.

That is the origin of his fate, the cause of the terrible waves.

Ishar...mla... The knight still remembers His name.

It is He who stirs the waves. It is He who drives the sea to swallow the land. It is He who speaks for the ocean.

Thus, as long as this grand lifeform falls here,

the ocean will forever be silent, and there will be no more waves.

The seawater slams against his armor, causing a roar akin to a metallic Feranmut stampeding across the land.

The rain dilutes the taste of rust in his breath, but brings the stench of life to his nostrils.

The tide tries to hold down his lance, and the currents drag him back towards the land.

The whole world is holding back the knight.

The ears of wheat are swaying, the pomegranate flowers are calling.

The loyal mount snorts, slapping the surface of the ocean with its snout in dissatisfaction.

Amidst the silence, the madman guffaws.

And thus, the last knight leaps forth.